


my tongue still misbehaves

by evocates



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Character Bleed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocates/pseuds/evocates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s an itch beneath Richard’s skin, and its name is Lee. However, Lee doesn’t seem himself, and they are not playing this scene as it should conventionally be done. But it works for them, somehow.</p>
<p>Written for a prompt on tumblr about Richard and Lee reuniting in New Zealand for pickups, and also for <a href="http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4307.html?thread=8540627#t8540627">this prompt</a> on hobbit_kink and Lee roleplaying as Thranduil while Richard is still Richard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my tongue still misbehaves

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Snow Patrol’s _Hands Open_.

It was an itch that reached deep into him, tapped right against his nerves. Like an ant colony had taken refuge underneath his skin. Sometimes Richard felt himself twitching strangely, his head craning backwards as if to look for someone who could relieve the itch, but when he blinked, he realised that he hadn’t even moved a single inch. His head was still facing forward, straight as a soldier’s. He was imagining himself moving, his muscles twitching as if trying to control a phantom limb, but Richard just didn’t know what he missed exactly. The knowledge was like a dream, like mist that appeared before mouths during winter – the moment he tried to catch it, it slipped between his fingers and was gone.

The first two days he was back in New Zealand, he thought to call that itch ‘Thorin’. It was the King in Exile who was trying to burst through his skin, Richard decided. But then he started rehearsals, and Thorin fitted over his skin like a pair of well-worn calfskin gloves. Even the prosthetics felt natural on his skin; no longer heavy, not even a weight he had to carry. It was simply Thorin’s face, a part of the character who was as much living as Richard was though he might need some help coming to life.

Richard itched for nearly a week without knowing the cause. The strangest thing was that Thorin felt it as well, though for the Dwarf it was less of an itch than an annoyance that he somehow had forgotten about for the moment, a burning fire at the back of his mind temporarily banked. That meant something, Richard knew; it was an answer to the question he couldn’t help but keep asking himself. But the solution was wreathed in code, written in the Cirth script of Khuzdul, and Richard couldn’t read it.

He nudged the thought in his mind constantly even when surrounded by the others. Tonight was one of the many dinners the Dwarf actors had together after they were reunited, and Richard pulled his attention back to the conversation.

“You know,” Jed was saying. “I keep expecting to turn my head and see Martin sitting there, ready with a biting remark.” He shrugged, and shoved a forkful of mashed potato into his mouth. “When is he coming over anyway?”

At the moment, a child washed over him like the tide coming in, and all the pieces fell into place. The itch wasn’t a _thing_ , wasn’t a character; it was a person, and it wasn’t Martin.

_Lee_.

Richard tasted the weight of that name on his tongue, silently. It was a name that made of think of green – of the lush meadows of New Zealand, of grass crunched under Thorin’s heavy boots, of green screens stark and artificial at the side of his eyes. He wondered if he was because he knew the meaning and history of Lee’s name that the name recalled such things, or if it was simply the fact that he spent some time with Lee walking through New Zealand, taking and surrounded by nature, by the green.

Jimmy was speaking, his voice muffled both by the food in his mouth and the fact that Richard’s hearing seemed to have taken a nosedive because of his distraction. He blinked, shaking his head slightly before he leaned forward, elbows sliding against the wooden table.

“It’s a little odd to have only most of the cast here,” he said softly. “Makes the absence of those who aren’t here all the more obvious.”

Everyone stopped talking immediately and turned to look at him.

“What?” Richard blinked. Instinctively, he backed back slightly under the weight of all their gazes landing on him at once.

“We thought you left,” Jimmy said, cocking his head to the side and looking like an overlarge owl. “You were so quiet.”

“No we didn’t,” Aidan protested immediately. “I thought you went underneath the table or something.”

“I thought you were already drunk,” Graham contributed, and his grin told Richard that he didn’t think that at all. “Since you were staring into space.”

Richard tried to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands, but his body betrayed him and he slid a little bit down the chair. “I just had _one_ beer,” he muttered.

The boys all burst out laughing, and Richard took a long swig of his beer, finishing the pint just for the opportunity to hide his face behind the glass.

“You’re all terrible,” he groused, but he couldn’t help grinning as he looked as his friends. “But seriously, do you know when are the rest coming over?”

“They all have different schedules,” Jed pointed out. He stretched out on his seat, his feet smacking against Richard’s legs even though he was two chairs down. “Who are you thinking of?”

Shrugging, Richard traced the condensation on the rim of his mark. “Martin, Luke, Lee,” he looked up. “You know. The rest.”

“Well,” Graham said. “Martin’s coming over in three days, I don’t know when Luke is coming down, but Lee’s landing here during the weekend, I think.” He was looking at Richard again, but Richard resolutely avoided his gaze, his eyes fixed upon a point just beyond Graham’s shoulder.

The weekend was five days away, and Richard could feel the itch inside him flare up, spread out until it was like a fire that licked and teased at his nerves. He nearly shuddered at the thought, his legs – thankfully hidden beneath the table – crossing as he squeezed his thighs together. The reaction was so sudden, so visceral, and Richard could only just fool himself that he didn’t know the reason.

But he knew. He had known since the first time Thorin Oakenshield confronted the Elvenking in his Halls, when Richard stood before Lee and Lee’s hissing breath as he delivered his lines ghosted across Richard’s lips. He knew there was something there, electricity that sparked whenever they met each other’s eyes. What that ‘something’ was, Richard didn’t know and couldn’t define. Lee was only in New Zealand for four months the last time, and most of it he spent alone and away from Richard and the Dwarves to rehearse for Thranduil’s movements. They didn’t manage to talk much despite what time they managed to snatch for each other during the hectic filming schedules, and Richard was far too old and cynical to want to risk a potential friendship because of attraction.

“It’d be nice for the whole crew to be here again,” Richard said, and he looked up to wave at the waitress for another beer. His eyes slid down the table and met Graham’s again. His friend grinned, giving him a wink that Richard didn’t know and didn’t try to interpret. He laughed instead, shaking his head as the talk around him resumed and Aidan tried to convince Jimmy that he could _so_ beat him at foosball.

Five days. Somehow knowing how long he must wait turned the itch under his skin from an annoyance to something _pleasurable_. Richard raised his new mug of beer to his lips, lapping at the alcohol even as his fingers stroked down his own thigh, short fingernails scraping against the denim.

He could barely wait.

***

Lee was draped over his makeup chair when Richard came to work on Monday. 

Richard stopped at the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. His breath came quicker all of the sudden, and he breathed in through his teeth, a hissing noise that made Lee turn his head. He still didn’t have Thranduil’s wig on and his hair was shorter than the last time Richard saw him, but the small, shy smile he gave was so familiar that it made Richard’s mouth ache.

“Hey,” Lee said, raising a hand in a wave. Richard waved back, and added onto the motion with a half-shrug, half-wiggle. He wasn’t even sure what that movement was, but the itch was back, stronger than ever, and he felt his toes curl inside his shoes.

“It’s been a long time,” he said finally, pushing himself from the doorway to drop onto the makeup chair next to Lee. “You’re here early today. Rehearsals?”

“Not exactly,” Lee said. He ducked his head down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t actually have anything on set today, in fact, I don’t even need to be here. But I wanted to…” he trailed off, looking up at Richard through heavy lashes. “I wanted to be here, to watch you guys film so I can get back to Thranduil’s head, you know? I’ve been away from it for too long.”

Richard tilted his head, eyes fixed on Lee’s until a makeup girl bustled over and made him look straight into the mirror. But he couldn’t stop looking at Lee through the corner of his eyes; watched the motion of Lee’s tongue as it darted out to lick his lips, watched as his fingers drummed on his thigh.

“I’ll be filming at the King Kong soundstage today,” he said finally. “Would you like to come over?”

“I was planning on that already, actually, but it’s nice to have an invitation,” Lee answered. His smile flickered, a sudden flash of light and sweetness. “But for now I think I should get out of this chair because I don’t actually have makeup to do. I’ll see you in a bit?”

“Yeah,” Richard said distractedly. His eyes were fixed upon Lee’s body as he stood up and left the trailer, all long limbs and lean grace.

Why Lee even came to the makeup trailer when he didn’t have any filming or rehearsals to do today, Richard didn’t know. If Thorin’s thoughts and reactions were in Cirth, then Lee’s seemed to be in Tengwar. Yet somehow Richard understood, in a place that was beyond his conscious mind, what Lee really meant. All the words they left unsaid and unspoken because of where they were right now hung in the air between them, and though Richard couldn’t hear them, he could taste their shapes on his tongue.

He closed his eyes for the prosthetics to be put on, and thought in the darkness of his own eyelids that Lee would be watching him – watching _Thorin_ – today. Richard felt his fingers clench against the top of his thigh, the grip hard enough to be felt through the denim, and tried to not shiver at the thought of Lee’s eyes on him.

***

Richard always took some time to get out of Thorin’s head. Not merely because Thorin was a man of great passions– Richard could barely remember the last time he played a character whose emotions _didn’t_ take him for a rollercoaster ride – but because Thorin moved so differently from Richard himself that he _had_ to become him entirely to do any justice to the King in Exile.

He wondered if Lee thought the same way. He remembered the way Thranduil strode towards Thorin, his legs eating up the ground and yet releasing no sound whatsoever on the dirt floor. Lee told him – during the few times they had to talk to each other – that training himself to move like Thranduil was like being a baby and learning how to walk again, except even harder.

_Lee_. Richard had been feeling his eyes on him the whole day. A shiver crawled down his spine, wrapping hot fingers around his waist and hips, at the mere memory of dark, hooded eyes watching him from the corner of the soundstage. Richard closed his eyes and pulled on his T-shirt, the last piece of his armour against Thorin Oakenshield’s presence.

When he turned around, Lee was standing at the door of the Costumes trailer, his arms folded and his eyes fixed upon Richard. His mouth went dry immediately, and his swallowed hard, arms flailing outwards to catch himself on the edge of one clothes rack.

“I didn’t see you there,” he managed to gasp out.

Lee laughed. The tension between them – alive and thrumming ever since the morning in the makeup trailer – shifted and metamorphosed from static electricity dancing across Richard’s skin to soft wool that wrapped all around him. Lee’s eyes were bright underneath the fluorescent lights of the trailer, and as he walked towards Richard, his footfalls were utterly silent.

“I’m practicing how to move like an Elf gain,” he said, voice barely above a murmur. “I would’ve failed if you heard me.”

He paused suddenly, looking at Richard with his head tilted slightly to the side. Then he raised his hand and let it hung in mid-air for a heartbeat’s worth of time before he took another step forward.

“Do you have time to go to dinner with me?”

_Dinner_ , Richard thought, and he almost laughed. Lee was so close that he could see the darkness that near-engulfed his eyes, grey retreating to the rims. He swallowed hard, a thousand different possible lines coming into his head, all of them smooth and inviting Lee to his bed so they could stop dancing around each other.

In the end he only exhaled, almost a sigh. He reached forward, hand cupping the back of Lee’s neck, his thumb rubbing against the base of one ear. Lee shivered and his pulse sped up, a tiny little tremor beating against Richard’s fingers.

“I have a room near here,” he rasped. “We can call in for takeout, and you can show me how far you’ve gotten into Thranduil’s head.”

Lee’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, his words less sound like breath against Richard’s skin.

“I might just do that.”

***

Lee ate like the Elvenking with his elbows spread over the table, his back ramrod straight, and with impeccable manners. Richard thought he should ask him what was going on, but Lee’s eyes were still his own – mischievous, without Thranduil’s endless age shining through the grey – despite the Elven-smoothness of his actions, and Richard let it go.

He wondered if Lee was still practicing; and if he was, if Richard should try sliding into Thorin’s skin to help him. But he knew even before he finished the thought that he wouldn’t – because Thorin would never allow Thranduil to sit on the same table and break their fasts together. The Dwarf’s hatred and pride ran deeper than the Elf’s, and Richard thought distantly of Achilles, of the hubris of the Greeks. Somehow he found himself wishing that Thranduil could return Orcrist in the end not to a corpse but a live Dwarf. But it was not to be. 

More importantly, this wasn’t between Thranduil and Thorin, but Richard and Lee.

“We are not two Kings, merely actors attempting at nobility,” he murmured, half-teasing, half-testing as he looked at Lee. “Your grace is making me look bad, Lee.”

“There’s none here who would look at us,” Lee replied, and it was in Thranduil’s crisp, cool consonants. “And you might not have a kingdom, but Greenwood the Great still exists.”

Lee fell silent, and his eyes flickered down to his plate before he looked at Richard through heavy lashes again. There was a strange quirk to the corner of his lips, a nervous almost-smile that seemed to beg Richard for approval, but that couldn’t be, because Richard couldn’t think of any reason why Lee – much less Thranduil – would want for _his_ approval.

He suddenly realised that this man, this mixture of Lee and Thranduil, was completely opaque to him, impossible to read. Lee had never been particularly difficult to read – not much so as anyone else to a man who made a living watching people and copying their movements – but right now he was like a polished mirrored surface, reflecting only Richard’s own desires.

But then again, was that such a terrible thing?

The chair’s legs scraped against the ground as Richard stood up. He strode over to Lee, his hand palm-flat against the back of the chair before he closed them slowly around the wood.

“I am just a man, no King at all,” he said. “And Thorin Oakenshield will not come even if you call.”

“That is well,” Thranduil replied. His hand closed around Richard’s atop the back of the chair. “It is not Thorin Oakenshield I seek.”

What was it that Lee was looking for? Why did he come here wearing Thranduil on his skin? Richard thought he knew, but now he floundered, uncertain, but his body knew the next step better than his mind. He found himself leaning forward, watching as Lee’s eyes fluttered close as he tilted his head to the side, and their lips touched.

Then he stopped moving, stilling himself, connected to Lee only through their lips. He waited even though he wanted to bite, wanted to taste – he knew, somehow, that it had to be Lee who took the second step.

A heartbeat’s worth of time passed, two, then Lee was lunging forward, his hands clenching tight on Richard’s shoulders as he pulled him down, forcing his lips open with his tongue. Richard moaned quietly, deep in his throat, opening his mouth for Lee to take, to have, even as Lee stood up, his hand sliding across the worn cotton of Richard’s shirt to cup the back of his neck.

“Shall we move to the bedroom?” Lee asked. The words were Thranduil’s, but the eyes – when Richard pulled back slightly to look at them – were wholly _Lee’s_. Uncertain, a little teasing, and Richard leaned forward, brushing their lips together once more.

“Yes,” he murmured. “It’s down the hall.”

He watched as Lee move away from him, turning his back. There was a sinuous, gliding grace to every step Lee took, something that was so obviously Elven that Thorin murmured his discontent at the back of Richard’s mind. And Richard could not help but wonder _why_ Lee was hiding behind Thranduil; why, in this moment that both of them were surely waiting for, he showed Richard a chimera instead of himself. Lee wasn’t a method actor; wasn’t like Richard himself who melded with his character until he wasn’t sure where he ended and Thorin begun.

Surely there were questions that needed to be asked, but not now. _Later,_ he decided, and with long strides followed Lee up the stairs, closing his hand around one strong wrist and pulling him into his bedroom, pushing him against the door. Their lips crashed together again; Lee’s kiss was a rough thing, making their teeth clack together, and Richard breathed in his exhale and felt the heat from Lee’s lungs sink into his own.

Then he stepped back, pulling away, and waited. He knew that this was what both of them wanted, but Richard had always preferred to leave the details to his partner, especially for the first time.

He licked his lips, and his hand moved forward before his mind managed to catch up with it. He cupped the back of Lee’s neck, feeling the thrum of his pulse beating against his thumb again; felt how Lee’s heart was racing despite Thranduil’s calm façade. And he breathed out softly, bringing his hand forward, brushing his hand over Lee’s plush lips.

“So how would you like to do this, my Elvenking?”

Lee laughed, a bright little sound. He shook his head, his hands flattening against Richard’s chest, shoving him backwards towards the bed.

“I said bed, didn’t I?” he teased, leaning forward to peck Richard softly on the lips. “Get your back to it.”

Just like that, the tension shifted again. Richard didn’t know what he did to make Lee come back to himself like that. He made a note to think about it later; right now, he had much better things to focus on.

His knees hit the edge of the bed, and Richard let himself fall backwards, letting the sheets swallow him. A question was on the tip of his tongue – _Do you want to fuck me, Lee?_ – but he swallowed it back, let it come through his eyes instead as he watched Lee fall downwards. Arms surrounded him, and Lee kissed him again, darted his tongue inside his mouth and swept over his palate, his teeth. 

“Get your clothes off,” Lee said, and the heat in his voice was incongruous to Thranduil’s sharp consonants. But Richard thought he was getting used to this. Maybe this chimera was just what Lee would give to him and _only_ to him, and the thought made him shiver even as he fought to pull his shirt over his head.

Their eyes met again, bracketed by Richard’s arms, and Lee grinned. He moved back and they stripped together almost in tandem, shirts being tossed to the side and pants kicked off of the bed. Richard stopped Lee’s fingers when they reached for his underwear, and he leaned in, nudging Lee to lie down before his teeth caught the edge of boxer briefs, tilting his head back until they slipped off of Lee’s hips.

“ _Christ_ ,” Lee swore, and his accent was a mangled, mixed thing. 

His hands cupped Richard’s head, pushing him back before he slipped his underwear off himself. The black cloth was stark against the pale skin of his ankles, and Richard tore his eyes away from Lee’s face, reaching down and pulling it off

Then Richard found himself flat on his back again, laughter burbling out from his lips. Lee’s fingers practically clawed at his hips, pulling off his underwear, and Richard groaned, the sound scraping against the side of his throat as it escaped his lips, as his cock, still only half-hard, was exposed to the air.

“Stay there,” Lee ordered with all of Thranduil’s authority. Then he blinked, giving Richard a sheepish little smile. “Sorry, uh, where do you put your…” he made an oblique sign with his hands, and Richard burst out laughing, sitting up and kissing that too-adorable smile.

“In the nightstand,” he murmured, and he dropped back onto the bed and spread his legs, watching as Lee scrambled off the bed, reaching for the nightstand. There was just a small bottle of lube along with some condoms – they probably were reaching their expiry dates – and Lee’s victorious smile when he found them had Richard lunging forward, grabbing him by the neck and hair and crashing their lips together.

Lee’s skin was warm, amazingly warm, his heartbeat staccato against Richard’s. And he was laughing awkwardly, his hands burying themselves into Richard’s hair. Bottle and foil made soft _thuds_ as they hit the bed, but Richard barely noticed.

How long had it been since he laughed during sex? Richard could barely remember. His shoulders were still shaking with suppressed laughter as he pulled away, fingers sliding over Lee’s buzzcut before he leaned in until their foreheads touched.

“So how do you want to…” he bit his lip.

“Lie down,” Lee said softly, his lips brushing over Richard’s cheek. “Let me do it.”

There was steel in Lee’s eyes, and Richard clicked his mouth shut immediately. Instead of speaking, he moved backwards on the bed, stretching his arms out to grab the headboard. He made to spread his legs, but Lee’s hand was on his thigh, pressing down and stopping him.

“Don’t move,” he said.

Richard tried to obey as much as he could, but his body trembled underneath Lee’s warm hand and dark gaze. He swallowed hard, his mouth turning dry as Lee’s legs swung over his thighs, straddling him. Strong muscles held him an inch above Richard’s hips, their heat almost close enough to feel, and Richard bit his own lip in an effort to not buck them upwards.

Then Lee was groping for the bottle of lube, losing his grace and almost falling over. Richard couldn’t help it – he laughed, one hand loosening its grip on wood and reaching out, grabbing plastic and tossing it over. He had an inkling to what Lee might wish to do, but Richard kept that thought away, blocking it from his mind, because he wanted to be surprised.

And surprise him Lee did. He watched, mouth falling open, as Lee’s head fell back and his fingers, gleaming obscenely under the lights of the bedroom, disappeared into his body. Two fingers at once, and Lee made a sound, too deep to be a whimper, and Richard shuddered hard.

“You’re going to kill me like this,” he said, voice hoarse with arousal.

Lee grinned at him from beneath hooded lids. “That will be a strange way to rid myself of an enemy indeed,” he murmured, and Richard trembled at the sight of Lee’s plush mouth wrapping around Thranduil’s words, the skin of his long throat thrumming as he spoke.

“You’ll have no enemies if this is your strategy,” he said, barely aware of what was coming out of his mouth. “Or you will have too many, because I can’t think of anyone who won’t be pissed off that this sight isn’t theirs to claim.”

“Claim?” Lee raised an eyebrow, far too coherent despite the three fingers disappearing inside himself. “You want to claim me, Richard?”

It was the first time Lee had said his name since he came through the door. Richard’s lips parted, gasping for breath, and he gripped onto Lee’s wrist, pulling those fingers out. He turned the hand around, and his kiss against the back was tremulous as the sound of Lee’s quiet moan.

“Yeah,” he said. His tongue darted out, licking Lee’s hand from wrist to finger, wrapping his lips around the tip. “Yeah, I want to claim you.”

They reached for the condom together, and Lee’s teeth were white against the silver foil. Richard shuddered as he felt Lee’s hands on his cock, sliding the condom down, and he let his eyes ask the question stuck in his throat: _May I?_

Lee nodded, shifting slightly. Richard took that as the invitation it was meant, hands clenching against lean hips. He held Lee steady as he lowered himself onto Richard’s cock, agonisingly slow heat slowly engulfing him. Richard shuddered, tearing his eyes away from the place where they were joining, pushing himself forward and sliding his hands up Lee’s back, fingertips drumming against the knobs of the spine he could feel beneath the muscle.

“It feels like I’m the one being taken instead,” he said, words almost muffled against the skin of Lee’s shoulders. 

“A King cannot be claimed without claiming,” Lee said. His hand clenched in Richard’s hair, pulling him away until their eyes could meet, until Lee’s tongue could reach his lips, licking them, tracing the edges.

“Come on, Rich,” Lee said, and his Southern American burr was suddenly as clear and solid as his body beneath Richard’s hands. “ _Fuck me_.”

Richard rocked his hips up, as gentle as he could, and Lee’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding tight. Turning, he buried his face into the crooked of Lee’s neck, tasting salt and skin as he thrust and Lee slammed himself down, their movements rapid, staccato, faltering with every second move.

_Christ_. Richard leaned back, shaking his head hard to throw his hair back from his eyes. He met Lee’s gaze, took in how the black had swallowed all colour, and his hands tightened on Lee’s hips. His muscles flexed, and he held Lee still before he pushed him up until his cock almost slipped out of Lee before he thrust up and dragged him _down_.

Their cries rang out, echoing in and beating against the walls of the room. Lee went pliant in his arms, his mouth grazing Richard’s over as over as he gave himself to him, letting Richard move him as he wished. And Richard did, fucking into Lee over as over, letting the heat surround him before he withdrew, and did it all over again.

His grip slipped once, slightly, and the angle changed. With his next slam inside, Lee threw his head back, a strangled sound escaping his throat, and Richard held that position, shifting his grip. He pressed forward, crashing their lips together, but Richard had not the coherence left to kiss. He only breathed in Lee’s pants, exhaling into his mouth as Lee’s fingers dragged down his back, almost hard enough to break the skin despite the blunt nails.

There were words broken between their lips: each other’s names, repetitions of _God_ and _yes_ and _more_ and _harder_ and _please_ , and Richard heard them all, felt the shape of them rumbling from the base of Lee’s chest. He didn’t need the full words, not when they were so close together, not when he didn’t know which breath was his and which was Lee’s.

Lee stiffened in his arms, turning his head, his mouth wet as it dragged against Richard’s ear. Richard shifted, one hand leaving Lee’s hips, flattening against his stomach before he curled rough fingers around Lee’s cock. He closed his hand as much as he could, thumb brushing against nails, and Lee fucked into the circle of his hand just as Richard fucked into him.

A mutual taking, Thranduil had implied, and Richard kept those words in his mind as he felt Lee shudder, gasp; felt the wet heat that coated his hand. God, he was so close. Lee’s mouth was on his ear again, teeth against the curve.

“Take what you need from my body,” Lee said, and despite his heavy breaths, the diamond-cut sharpness of Thranduil’s accent still rang through. Then Lee shook his head, cupping Richard’s face with both hands.

“Come in me. Come _for_ me.”

Richard bit down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. But the tiny spark of pain was nothing in the maelstrom of pleasure that swept through him, and Richard held onto Lee’s hips again, holding him steady as he thrust upwards, over and over again. He could feel Lee tremble against him, could feel the tiny whimpers beginning from the base of his throat, and he knew that Lee was oversensitive right now, overwhelmed by that strange mix of pain and pleasure.

He drew a hand up, tasting Lee’s come against his own skin. Salt and bitterness, and he let Lee’s moan sink into his skin and deafen him to all else. White surrounded him, and Richard groaned as he thrust again, coming inside Lee so hard that he shook all over and his toes dug into the sheets.

Lee fell against him, sending them sprawling across the mattress. Their pants painted each other’s shoulders with misted breath, and Richard wrapped his arms around Lee, turning his head and kissing his ear, his cheek, anywhere he could reach. Lee laughed against his chest, his fingers stroking through the short strands of Richard’s hair.

“So,” Richard said when he guessed he had enough breath to form whole words again. “Are you still practicing for Thranduil?”

A moment passed, and Lee stilled in his arms. They shifted in tandem, and Richard hissed as Lee pushed himself off of him, falling onto the bed. He turned immediately, reaching out and rubbed his thumb against the side of Lee’s eyes. 

“That was, uh,” Lee started. He blushed slightly, darting his eyes downwards and wrinkling his nose slightly. “Sorry, that was an excuse.”

Richard blinked. “What?”

Lee sat up and punched him gently on the shoulder. “You’re hell of hard to read, and I, well,” he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Look, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me, and I wasn’t entirely _confident_ about tonight – about anything tonight, really, so I figured that…” He burbled a laugh, shaking his head. “And now I’m starting to babble like Ned. So much for character bleed, huh?”

Pushing himself up, Richard cupped Lee’s face and kissed him hard, tilting his head to the side so their noses wouldn’t smack against each other. It was always a little awkward, kissing; one of the downsides of having a nose as big as his.

“I want you,” Richard said simply. “I was thinking, just now, that it’s been a long time since I’ve laughed during sex, and I want to do it again.” He paused, feeling himself start to blush, and rubbed hard at his own nose and mouth with his clean hand. “If you want to, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Lee said, and his lashes brushed against Richard’s cheeks as their lips brushed against each other. “Yeah, I definitely want to.”

“Good,” Richard said, and he leaned into Lee’s arms even as he pulled the other man close. “I feel a little bit cheated anyhow, given that I wasn’t exactly having sex with you just now.”

Lee chuckled. “Yeah? And who were you having sex with?”

“A chimera,” Richard murmured. “A mixture between you and the Elvenking; interesting, but I’d rather just have you.”

A hissing inhale, and Lee placed his finger on Richard’s mouth. “See, I don’t know if you’re serious about that; I can’t read you very well, and I don’t know if you’re teasing about that. Besides,” he grinned. “I’m not _that_ cheap of a date. I demand breakfast, or dinner, or breakfast _and_ dinner before we start talking about ‘having’ again, alright?”

It was odd, really. Richard thought he knew Lee well; he could _read_ him easily – but maybe that was because Lee was so open about everything. He remembered, suddenly, that they really hadn’t spoken to each other that much; that despite knowing how Lee tasted, he didn’t know his favourite colour (but he knew it wasn’t pastels, and was in the region of blues and greens and browns, given Lee’s wardrobe). 

He shook his head. “We’re doing things backwards,” he said, amused. “At least we had dinner before this, but we can have breakfast together tomorrow?”

“That’s more like it,” Lee said, slipping into Thranduil’s accent again. His eyes were serious as he met Richard’s again. “Does that mean I get to stay the night?”

_Of course_ , Richard thought. _I invited you to breakfast, didn’t I?_ But breakfast could mean breakfast at the set, he realised, and he leaned in and kissed Lee again. He never thought of himself as being particularly hard to read – but then again, he _did_ have a habit of keeping most things close to the chest, and attraction rarely meant immediate understanding.

His fingers traced the edge of Lee’s jaw. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m not letting you leave tonight.”

There would be breakfast tomorrow, and maybe lunch, if their schedules permitted. Definitely dinner. He wanted to know what Lee’s favourite colour was, and he wondered if that was just a step away from letting this attraction of theirs grow into something more.

But that would be something to consider in the morning. Learning a person was like learning a new language, and maybe Richard didn’t realise that he was much better at such linguistics than Lee was. But that was alright; Richard would translate himself for him until Lee caught up.

They had time during these pickups, and even if they didn’t, he would _make_ time. He thought Lee would too.

That, too, was something else he would have to tell Lee in the morning. 

_End_


End file.
